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“That’s Miss Kirkman. You’ve heard of her. She fetches and carries for Luther Hamilton and his colleagues, and has been suspected of doing some spying, also.”

“Who was that with her?”

“Oh, that’s her man Friday; otherwise Joseph Aldrich by name, a fellow she’s trying to make something of before she marries him. She’s got the pull to do it, too.”

“Why don’t you turn them down?”

“Ah, my boy, you’re young, you’re young; you show it. Don’t you know that a wind strong enough to uproot an oak only ripples the leaves of a creeper against the wall? Outside of the race that woman is really considered one of the leaders, and she trades upon the fact.”

“But why do you allow this base deception to go?”

“Because, Elkins, my child,” Gray put his hand on the other’s shoulder with mock tenderness, “because these seemingly sagacious whites among whom we live are really a very credulous people, and the first one who goes to them with a good front and says ‘Look here, I am the leader of the colored people; I am their oracle and prophet,’ they immediately exalt and say ‘That’s so.’ Now do you see why Miss Kirkman has a pull?”

“I see, but come on, let’s go in; there goes the gavel.”

The convention hall was already crowded, and the air was full of the bustle of settling down. When the time came for the payment of their fees, by those who wanted the privilege of the floor, there was a perfect rush for the secretary’s desk. Bank notes fluttered everywhere. Miss Kirkman had on a suspiciously new dress and bonnet, but she had done her work well, nevertheless. She looked up into the gallery in a corner that overlooked the stage and caught the eye of a young man who sat there notebook in hand. He smiled, and she smiled. Then she looked over at Mr. Aldrich, who was not sitting with her, and they both smiled complacently. There’s nothing like being on the inside.

After the appointment of committees, the genial bishop began his opening address, and a very careful, pretty address it was, too–well worded, well balanced, dealing in broad generalities and studiously saying nothing that would indicate that he had any intention of directing the policy of the meetings. Of course it brought forth all the applause that a bishop’s address deserves, and the ladies in the back seats fluttered their fans, and said: “The dear man, how eloquent he is.”

Gray had succeeded in getting Elkins placed on the committee on resolutions, but when they came to report, the fiery resolution denouncing the administration for its policy toward the negro was laid on the table. The young man had succeeded in engineering it through the committee, but the chairman decided that its proper place was under the head of new business, where it might be taken up in the discussion of the administration’s attitude toward the negro.

“We are here, gentlemen,” pursued the bland presiding officer, “to make public sentiment, but we must not try to make it too fast; so if our young friend from Ohio will only hold his resolution a little longer, it will be acted upon at the proper time. We must be moderate and conservative.”

Gray sprang to his feet and got the chairman’s eye. His face was flushed and he almost shouted: “Conservatism be hanged! We have rolled that word under our tongues when we were being trampled upon; we have preached it in our churches when we were being shot down; we have taught it in our schools when the right to use our learning was denied us, until the very word has come to be a reproach upon a black man’s tongue!”

There were cries of “Order! Order!” and “Sit down!” and the gavel was rattling on the chairman’s desk. Then some one rose to a point of order, so dear to the heart of the negro debater. The point was sustained and the Ohioan yielded the floor, but not until he had gazed straight into the eyes of Miss Kirkman as they rose from her notebook. She turned red. He curled his lip and sat down, but the blood burned in his face, and it was not the heat of shame, but of anger and contempt that flushed his cheeks.